


A Time to Break

by finn1013



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-27 22:11:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finn1013/pseuds/finn1013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place a few months after 4.03 The Wicked Day.  Haunted by recent events, Merlin takes action.  Sad!Unhappy!ReallyNotCoping!Merlin.  Angsty!Arthur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He’d tried, he really had, and although he was an expert at pretending, he couldn’t do so any longer.

Merlin was still.  He sat huddled on the edge of his bed, a mirror cradled between his hands, staring at the face that appeared in it.  The mirror was opaque and brittle around the edges just like him, yet in the centre where it mattered it reflected him perfectly.  He stared at the face and it stared back unblinkingly, it never changed, this facsimile of him. 

Merlin was silent.  He watched the face hour after hour, night after night, until his limbs cramped up and he was ready to drop from exhaustion.  Sometimes he didn’t sleep and saw the sun come up.  He stared.  The face always looked like him, like he’d always looked.  But it wasn’t him, he was different now.

He didn’t notice the chill air of the midnight hour drifting in the open window and leaving its harsh bite in the room.  Merlin concentrated on the image in the mirror, but no matter how hard he tried the face gave him no clue, he still couldn’t see exactly where he’d gone wrong.

He ran a finger slowly around the rim of the glass.  The edge was sharp and it pricked the tip of his finger, and a tiny drop of blood smudged his reflection.  He hardly noticed.  He’d been lost for hours again, and the damp air had settled in his clothes as he tried to recognise what Arthur had said he’d become. 

He’d been watching the mirror for months.  He’d started the night after Lancelot’s death, and continued with more fervent intensity when his arrogance and stupidity had culminated in Uther’s passing, Arthur’s pain, and the fruition of Morgana’s long awaited plans. 

He wanted to know but the facsimile of him in the mirror held no answers.  Each night the face was the same, it had been months, and it never changed.  He hadn’t understood at first, but he knew it for what it was now, it was evil.  Him.

At first he’d thought evil appeared only when his eyes were gold, but then he’d realised when his eyes were blue he still felt the same inside.  Empty.  Alone.  Guilty.  Wrong.  An idiot, but never a good one.

He shut his eyes, he couldn’t look any longer.

He’d made up his mind weeks ago.  His room was tidy, his chores were done.  It was past midnight, and he was tired in a way that left him empty in spirit, but that feeling was normal lately.  The pain was like a knife wound to the gut, killing him little by little.  He put the mirror aside and stood up slowly, bones creaking like an old man, like he was Dragoon again.

He still believed in his destiny because it was the only thing he had left to cling to, but he couldn’t do it this way, not any more, not when he didn’t trust himself, or his motives, or his judgement.  The consequences were too disastrous when he got it wrong. 

He’d continue to protect Arthur, but it would be from afar now.  He had to get away, somewhere where he’d be alone, where he could quietly break into little pieces.  The pieces had started to fall after Lancelot’s death, but now they were shattering at a greater rate, he had to go now before he fell apart completely and the jagged edges injured everyone he cared about.

He lit a candle.  The conversation with Gaius would be short because he had nothing left to give.  He’d wanted to avoid it, but he found he couldn’t write an explanation in a note when he couldn’t understand himself, after three attempts he gave up, throwing the scribbled bits of parchment into the fire where they twisted as they burnt.  He watched the paper die in its pyre, then gently shook Gaius awake.

“What is it, Merlin?”  His mentor woke with a snort and a grunt, and Merlin felt the faintest trace of something that once would have been a smile flitter across his face.

The dark circles beneath Merlin’s eyes made his face haggard.  “I’m leaving, Gaius.  And I’m not coming back.”

“What?  Merlin!”  Gaius fumbled with his blankets and sat up.

Merlin was calm, and it was easy to be calm because he didn’t feel much any more, the pain and hurt and devastation was buried too deep.  He tried to explain but it came out as a jumbled rush of words, Arthur would always come first, and this _was_ putting Arthur first.  Merlin had made the arrangements, he knew it’d all go smoothly, could Gaius tell Arthur in the morning?

Young Peter would take over as Arthur’s manservant, Merlin had been discretely showing him what to do, and the boy knew just what Arthur liked for breakfast, how hot to make his bath, and where his favourite clothes were kept.  Geoffrey of Monmouth’s nephew was born to be an administrator, he’d love writing speeches and perusing reports, he’d do a better job than Merlin ever had. 

And Arthur had friends, real friends who didn’t go around lying to him or killing his father, friends who were true like Gwaine, Leon, Elyan and Percival.  He had Gwen, she’d been the rock for Arthur to lean on during the months following Uther’s death.  And Arthur would continue to put his trust in Agravaine because it made him happy to think he still had this blood link left, Merlin knew it was misguided but surely his uncle was no worse than what Merlin was after what he’d done, no worse at all. 

Merlin had thought of it all.  Arthur didn’t need him.  He was king now, and he’d be a good one.  He didn’t need Merlin, didn’t need someone like him.  Evil could not be a friend.  Staying would be counterproductive, if he knew the truth of Merlin’s betrayal he’d _never_ bring magic back to the land.

The candle flickered.  Merlin stared at the shadows playing on the wall as Gaius tried to argue, his face crinkled with sleep and age, hair wild and sticking out everywhere as he stood in his thin nightshirt, clutching Merlin by the shoulders. 

“Merlin, please ...”  Gaius refused to allow him to go, refused to accept the excuse to tell the new king, that Merlin’s mother was ill and he’d had to leave suddenly.  Gaius threatened to go to Arthur there and then, to _put an end to all this foolishness_.  So Merlin had done something he should be ashamed of, but wasn’t.  He’d spelled him, put Gaius into a sleep so he wouldn’t wake until the morning.

And then he left.

****************

Merlin avoided the guards with the stealth of long practice, shouldering his pack and bedroll and the heavy pile of books he’d knotted together as he stumbled through the main gates.  It was dark, but the night was clear, and even as he left he felt a lessening of his tension, and he knew he’d made the right decision.

He didn’t take a horse because he didn’t own one, but he didn’t mind the walk.  It felt good to be in the night air, at one with the land, knowing he’d be able to call on his magic if he had to defend himself because he could, now that he’d be alone.  He hadn’t planned where he was going, but it wouldn’t be to Ealdor, just in case Gaius sent someone to look for him.

He was barely ten minute’s walk from Camelot when the dragon found him, his bulk crushing trees as he landed in a gust of air and flapping wings.

Merlin stopped in his tracks at the edge of the new clearing.  “Kilgharrah?  What are you doing?”

“I sensed your suffering, young warlock.  And I came.”

Merlin dropped his head and swallowed past the lump in his throat.  Leaves drifted down from the flattened trees and settled at his feet.  He stared at them, the leaves had died with the tree but they were still green and looked so alive, did they even know they were dead?

Merlin’s voice was a faint thread of sound in the night.  “It’s all gone so wrong.  I don’t know what to do any more.” 

And he didn’t.  He’d thought his grief was bad when he’d poisoned someone he’d called a friend, and when he’d lost Balinor.  But Lancelot was the only friend he’d had who’d known and accepted all of him.  To top that loss off by causing unbearable pain to Arthur while effectively killing off his own chance to ever be accepted for who he truly was, was too much to handle, and the pretence of making it all seem fine all the time was unbearable.

The dragon said quietly, “Tell me, Merlin.”

But he couldn’t.  He couldn’t talk about anything, the words were there somewhere but they were stuck and he didn’t want to pull them out, because thinking about it hurt too much and verbalising made it all too real.  Because this time it really was _all his fault_. 

He’d spoken of his intentions about the Isle of the Blessed to Lancelot, but if he’d kept his own counsel then his friend wouldn’t have known what he’d planned to do and made the ultimate sacrifice.  And he’d tried to rush Arthur into legalising magic by holding him to ransom and making him bargain his father’s life.  Even if it had worked, and Uther’s life had been saved, the ban on magic lifting would not have come from Arthur’s heart.  Forcing Arthur to compromise his beliefs had been cruel.  Merlin damned himself for what he’d done, and the results were no better than what he deserved.

He sat down on the forest floor, drawing his knees to his chest.  The grass was damp and it soaked through his clothes.  “I’ve thought about it for a long while, Kilgharrah.  I have to leave.  I didn’t want to make it a selfish decision.”  He picked up a leaf, twisting it in his fingers.  “And I haven’t.  I’ve done what’s best for Arthur.  I can still protect him, but it’s better that I do it from afar now.”

Kilgharrah was gentle.  “Then I will not try to change your mind, my young friend, for that’s not what you need from me right now.”  The dragon peered down at him for a long moment.  “Will you come with me, Merlin?”

Merlin nodded, Kilgharrah lowered his head and Merlin climbed up on the dragon’s back, taking his packs and the books with him.  Once he was settled near the dragon’s head, the huge beast reared back and lurched into the air. 

Despite himself, Merlin felt the familiar exhilaration, no matter how many times he’d do this he was sure he’d never grow tired of flying with the dragon.  The rush woke him up a little, he’d been existing in a world where he’d been numb for so long.  He laid his cheek against Kilgharrah’s scales, feeling gratitude and something close to peace, and shut his eyes.

He let Kilgharrah guide them, thinking of nothing but the fierce rush of wind on his face, the smells of the night, and the freedom of being in the air and away.  It was only when his hands were numb with cold that the dragon flew down again, landing beside a small rock ledge which Merlin recognised as the place where he’d recovered from the serket sting a long time ago.

Merlin was shivering and exhausted, he curled up on his bedroll, trembling uncontrollably from the cold and the demons plaguing him.  He pulled a thin blanket over his shaking form.  His eyes were closing as the dragon set fire to a pile of large boulders, the warmth was immediate and Merlin fell asleep to indigo flames dancing across his eyelids.

And that was how he spent the first seven days.  Sleeping dreamlessly, waking only to eat something Kilgharrah had roasted for him, then drifting back into the blissful state where he had no responsibilities and he didn’t have to think, where nothing existed at all.

It was the sun and hunger that woke him on the eighth day.  Kilgharrah was nowhere to be seen.  Merlin sat up in his pile of blankets, smiling as he saw the huge apple tree that had been deposited beside him on the rock ledge.  Dirt still clung to its roots. 

He picked an apple off one of the branches and crunched on it as he waited for the dragon to return.

***************

It had been five days since Merlin had gone, and there was still no trace of him anywhere.  Sick unease was a constant fist in Arthur’s belly.  He hadn’t even been angry even when he’d stormed into Gaius’s room that first morning to search for his eternally late manservant, but all that changed when he found the physician in a sleep that he couldn’t be woken from for several hours, and Merlin’s room too clean and empty.

The new king had led a patrol into the woods before noon that first day, and it had taken no time at all to find Merlin’s tracks leading off the road and into the bushes, only to stop where there were three flattened trees and marks on the ground that Arthur could not make head nor tail of despite all his experience.

It had been Leon who uneasily suggested that the gouges in the earth and the damage done to the trees could have been done by a dragon, if such a beast still existed.  The horses shied away from the area nervously.  Arthur had thought about it, and worried, because there was no sign that his manservant, no his _friend_ , had walked out of the clearing, no sign at all.

There was no sign of him anywhere.  He’d not been to Ealdor, they’d looked there the third day, Arthur telling himself that it was a king’s duty to visit his neighbours, and if Ealdor was on Cenred’s land it didn’t matter because Cenred was dead and the squabble over the succession meant his borders weren’t being patrolled.  It was Camelot’s duty to check on the welfare of Ealdor’s citizens.  But all Arthur had managed to do was leave behind a very anxious and worried Hunith.

“He doesn’t want to be found, Arthur.”

Arthur stared in disbelief at Gaius.  “How can you say that?  There’s something wrong with him, he’d never go off like this, never.”

“He had to go, sire.” 

“But why?  What happened to him?  You know more than you’re telling me, Gaius.  What is it?”

Gaius shook his head sadly.  “He’s upset, Arthur.  And it’s not my place to tell you why.”

“Please, Gaius?”  Arthur was ashamed of the crack in his voice, he’d not been so close to breaking since his father had died.  “I need to know if he’s okay.  Can you tell me that much?”

Gaius’s face was troubled and he looked away.  “I fear I cannot do that, sire.  I do not know.”

Arthur clenched his fists.

************

 


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur threw the heavy silver goblet across his chambers in a fit of frustrated rage.  It banged against the wall, making another satisfying clatter as it hit the ground.  There was no one to witness his loss of control, he’d issued orders to be left alone. 

It seemed he was always angry lately, he was angry at Merlin for disappearing without a word, angry at his knights because they couldn’t find a servant who had no skills at stealth or hiding, and angry at himself because he hadn’t seen any of this coming.  Only Gwen was spared the lash of his tongue, but being with her was difficult too because he couldn’t look at her without seeing his own pain reflected in her eyes.

He wondered what sort of king he really was.  How could he hope to read the mood of his people when he couldn’t read his own manservant, his _friend_?

Merlin’s disappearance was _all his fault_.  What sort of friend had he been to Merlin if Merlin would rather walk away than tell Arthur what was bothering him?  He knew Merlin was grieving for Lancelot, but Arthur was sure that wasn’t all of it, but he didn’t know what else it could be and why Merlin had gone.

Arthur was at a loss, and the feeling wasn’t something he was familiar with, he was a king now, he was meant to be in control.  He didn’t know what to do.  He’d widened the patrols after the first few days, he now had three companies of knights heading to different areas of his kingdom, but the reports that kept coming back were all the same.  There was no sign of anyone matching Merlin’s description, no one had seen him.

Agravaine was the only one foolish enough to suggest it was ridiculous and indulgent to waste time and manpower on a servant, but one furious tirade from Arthur had been enough to ensure he never mentioned the subject again.

***********

A week of doing nothing but sleep cleared Merlin’s head a little, but he still felt like he was living in a world outside himself.  It was difficult to think, to plan, to know what he should do, or to even care enough to do anything at all.

But he knew enough to know he couldn’t stay in the dragon’s cave indefinitely.  Water was scarce, and it was too far from Camelot.  He mightn’t be able to see Arthur any more, but he still had to protect him from Morgana and any other threat that would come his way.  That was the single constant chant in his head _protect Arthur_ , he had to, even if he didn’t know how he’d go about it.

The charcoal-maker’s hut was a logical choice for a shelter, not too near Camelot, and not too far away either, and it was empty and isolated, with enough space for Kilgharrah to land nearby.  It would have been perfect except for the fact that he’d bought Arthur there to visit Dragoon, but Merlin was sure Arthur wouldn’t return here, so it didn’t matter, it would do for now.

Merlin shut the rough wooden door of the hut behind him, standing silent and still in the gloom.  Kilgharrah had gone.  Merlin tugged off his neckerchief, smoothing the blood-red fabric out in his hands.  It was filthy and one of the edges was starting to fray.  He looked at it for a long time, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the edge of the cloth.

He stood alone in the hut, beside the table that Dragoon had pretended to chop herbs on while he’d spoken with Arthur, the scrap of fabric in his hands.  His eyes were wet.  He tried to breathe.

His magic was quivering again, seeking to protect him but grief had no defence.  He balled the neckerchief up, and threw it into the corner of the hut.  It landed in a litter of spider webs and dirt on the bare earth floor.  He slumped back against the crude wall, and slid down to the ground, snagging his shirt on a splinter of wood. 

He put his head in his hands and wondered if it would be like this forever. 

He huddled on the floor and waited for the shaking to stop.  He had to remember why he was doing this, he was doing it for Arthur.  Destiny and Arthur was why he had to remember to breathe.  Yet breathing was magic and so how could that be?  He’d been stupid to think they could co-exist.

The days were never-ending.  He slept too much.  To distract himself, he begin to read the books he’d pilfered from the hidden room in Camelot’s library.  Once, when the world had been full of promise and hope, all that magical knowledge at his fingertips would have been a treasure trove of riches, but now learning more was just something that must be done, because the greater his knowledge the safer Arthur would be. 

Sometimes he made himself practice what he’d read, screaming his magic to the sky until he was hoarse.  In a twist of fate, this weary lack of feeling permeating every thought and action made learning new magic more instinctual and effortless.  He knew he should be pleased to see his abilities growing so easily, but everything around him seemed so far away.

Each day was the same.  The nights had their own pattern.  Every afternoon, when dusk began to fall, and he was tired again, and the thoughts were racing incessantly through his head making his heart beat frantically in endless dread, Kilgharrah would arrive.  They’d fly until well into the night, and for short moments he felt alive again and remembered who he was. 

But the relief was fleeting, after a while he’d rest his cheek against Kilgharrah’s rough scales, and the tears would come as the sorrow and the loss hit him again and again like punches to the chest, leaving him gasping and tormented with grief.  He couldn’t break the cycle, he couldn’t see past it. 

He’d cling to Kilgharrah and they’d fly for hours, only stopping when Merlin was ready to collapse back into his crude bed in the hut, when he was too weary to keep the warming enchantment around him as they soared through the cold night air.

Some nights he didn’t sleep in the hut, he laid out his bedroll on the grass and curled up beside Kilgharrah, protected from the elements under the dragon’s wings.  And yet, amidst all this pain, he truly felt, perhaps for the first time, the bond between dragon and dragonlord and he finally understood what his father had meant so long ago, Kilgharrah was his kin.  He needed the dragon like he needed air, he didn’t know if he’d survive this darkness without him.  The bond was growing and fierce, he’d never give it up.

Still, he didn’t speak much to Kilgharrah, and Kilgharrah for once didn’t offer endless advice.  It made Merlin wonder if that was because he’d got his destiny totally right this time, or instead made it all too irreparably wrong.

Another two weeks passed, and he’d only worked his way through a few chapters of the first book, when it occurred to Merlin there was somewhere he could still go, to get some answers, to see if he’d royally screwed his destiny up and condemned another generation of magic users to the pyre.  Somewhere he could go, to find out if destiny would ever smile on him again.  He thought about his idea for a long while, because after the last time he’d been there he’d sworn he’d never go again.  He didn’t know if he’d won or lost the battle with himself when the decision was finally made.

He’d go to the Crystal Cave. 

*******************

The king was the heart of Camelot, and Camelot’s spirit was changing.  The new king who seemed so at one with the people when he began his rule, was now rarely seen.  While not being totally negligent, Arthur was avoiding some of his duties.  Day to day things that didn’t require too much thought were done without the energy and enthusiasm he’d first bought to his rule.  More complicated duties, like responding to requests from neighbouring kings wanting to discuss trades and treaties with the new king of Camelot were put off.

Something inside the king had torn, and the need to find Merlin consumed him.  A part of Arthur had disappeared with Merlin, and he wanted it back.  He felt like he had when he’d lost his father, but a thousand times worse.  Anger had given way to grief, yet he masked it well, everything he’d ever been taught meant that he hid what he felt, even from himself.  Showing emotions was showing weakness, and a king must never be weak. 

Yet the loss seeped into his very bones and was there for every waking moment even as he pretended life was still normal.  It couldn’t be assuaged by Gwen’s gentle arms, or Leon’s concerned looks or Gwaine’s attempts to beat him in their training sessions.

Arthur didn’t understand himself, or these feelings.  He didn’t like them either, he felt unbalanced and girlish and completely ridiculous, pining over Merlin’s disappearance.  Merlin would think he was an idiot if he knew he was behaving this way.

Merlin wasn’t dead, Arthur was sure of it.  Why he was sure, he didn’t know.  And there was something unbearable about not knowing, not knowing where he was, why he’d gone, whether he was okay.  The loss infused his dreams too, he dreamt of Merlin, but instead of the silly grin or cheeky retorts or not-so-unexpected wise words, in Arthur’s dreams Merlin’s blue eyes reflected only pain, and suffering, and unhappiness.  Once, in his dreams, Merlin’s eyes had been gold.  Arthur wondered what that meant. 

He’d woken up with tears on his face.

*************

“There’s something you should know, sire.”  Gaius was troubled, was this the right thing to do?  But he had nothing to lose, not now.  Merlin had been Gaius’s chance to make up for the mistakes of his past but if Merlin was gone then so was Gaius’s purpose in life.

“What is it Gaius?”  Arthur was curt, he didn’t want to see him, he didn’t want to see anyone.

The physician hesitated and glanced around Arthur’s chambers.  “Were you aware that until the Great Purge, I practiced magic?”

Arthur looked up briefly then turned his gaze back to the fire.  “No.  I did not know that.”

Gaius sat up straighter on the chair opposite the king.  “Your father was aware of it, of course.  I employed magical remedies in my healing of him prior to the purge.  To continue as physician to the king and escape death myself, I promised Uther I would never practice magic again.”

Arthur spared him a lacklustre glance.  “Why are you telling me this now?”

Gaius sidestepped the question.  “When Morgana fell down the stairs, she should have died.”

“I know that, you said she would.”

“Yet she didn’t.  Did you know Uther asked me to heal her with magic?”

Arthur felt a slight spark of interest.  “My father asked ... what?  _You_ healed Morgana with _magic_?”

“He asked, but I couldn’t, I didn’t have the power to do so.  I couldn’t heal her.  Yet she was healed, and Uther thanked me for it even though I wasn’t responsible.”

“Gaius, why are you telling me this now?”

Gaius didn’t answer directly.  “Did Merlin ever tell you that just before the skeleton army attacked Camelot, he followed Morgana to a meeting with Morgause in the woods?  Did he tell you that they tied him up and left him to die at the mercy of the serkets?  That he was stung by one?”

Arthur felt old and tired suddenly.  He put his head in his hands.  “No, Gaius.  Merlin didn’t tell me any of that.”

“It was hardly surprising, to speak to you or Uther of Morgana’s treachery was not something we could address at the time.”

Arthur stared down at his boots, he didn’t care about what she’d done any more, the sense of betrayal had lessened, she was just another enemy to face.  “I had no idea she was betraying us for so long.”  Then he remembered.  “Yet she saved us Gaius, she broke the magical staff that kept the skeletons alive.”

Gaius said quietly but firmly, “She did not, Arthur.  That was Merlin, he fought with her in the crypt, she’d been guarding the staff.  Just like it was Merlin that persuaded Lancelot to go with him not to find the watchbell when Morgana took Camelot, but to empty the Cup of Life, so the immortal army perished.  Merlin has saved us more times than you can possibly know.”

Arthur wondered if Gaius was trying to make him feel better, but instead his pain intensified.  “Why did he never tell me any of this?  Why not even now?”  He stood up and paced.  “I had no idea.  I wish I’d known.  _Why_ didn’t he say so?”

“That’s something you will have to discuss with Merlin, Arthur.  He will always be loyal to you.  And he’d be angry with me if he knew I’d told you this, but I won’t sit back and watch him throw his life away.”

Arthur felt like he was missing something.  He was quiet for a long time.  “Thank you, Gaius.”

“There’s another thing, sire.”

Arthur wanted to be alone with his thoughts.  “Not tonight.  No more.”

“Please, sire.”  No longer would Gaius turn a blind eye, doing nothing was an action in itself and he’d been so wrong.  “This is of critical importance, perhaps more so than what I’ve already said.  I fear this cannot wait.”

Arthur nodded reluctantly and Gaius stretched out his hand, dropping a gold pendant with a triquetra mark onto the table beside Arthur’s untouched dinner.

“I know what you did, Arthur.  That you used magic to try and heal your father.”

Arthur turned away, barely sparing the chain a look.  “But it was wrong, it didn’t work.  It killed him.”

“It didn’t kill him, sire.”

Arthur looked up sharply.  “He’s dead, Gaius.”

Gaius spoke carefully.  “Yes, your father is dead.  But I found this chain around your father’s neck when I examined his body.  It had been enchanted with dark magic, so that any enchantment used to try and heal the king would rebound and have a completely opposite affect.”

Arthur was still and silent.  Gaius forged on, he was going to lay it all on the line.  “I told you about Morgana, sire, because I hoped you would see the loyalty that Merlin and I have for you.  Now I will tell you, sire, something you will not want to hear.  Agravaine is not to be trusted, I fear he’s in league with Morgana and may have planted the necklace on your father, a necklace that reversed healing magic and ultimately killed him.”  He stopped and waited to see how his words would be taken.

Arthur stared, and Gaius didn’t back down. 

And Arthur believed him, not so much because of what Gaius had said, but because he trusted Merlin.  Blood was _not_ thicker than water, not this time.  Merlin trusted Gaius and Merlin was his friend.  He opened his mouth to say something to alleviate the trepidation on the physician’s face, but there was a pounding at the door, it crashed open abruptly and slammed against the wall.

Gwaine rushed in.  The knight was exhilarated.  “It’s Merlin, Arthur.  We know where he is.”

*******


	3. Chapter 3

The Forest of Glaestig, where the charcoal-maker’s hut was located, was quiet.  The regular visits from a dragon had intimidated the small animals that once roamed, they’d moved to safer grounds, and the woods were eerily still. 

It was early evening, not long before the time Kilgharrah usually arrived, and Merlin was late getting back to the hut, he’d half-thought about fishing in the creek not far away, but in the end, the effort of doing anything at all was too much.  Instead, he’d sat on a rock, taken off his boots and dangled his feet in the water.  He wasn’t paying attention to the passage of time, or anything much at all.

Choices and actions, once a part of Merlin’s everyday life, were now no longer something that came easily to him.  The Crystal Cave would give him the answers he needed.  He wanted to go there, to get these answers.  Yet the very idea of the cave filled him with a sick sense of dread.  He deliberated for days, and time and time again, he questioned his decision to go and postponed the visit. 

The cave had caused nothing but pain to him before.  What would it reveal this time, would it be things he did not want to see?  What if it _did_ show him only Arthur’s unending hatred and persecution of magic, of him?  Merlin didn’t know if he’d be able to continue to follow his path if there was no hope any longer for a friendship between them.  If it showed him this nightmare had come to pass, he doubted his ability to carry on.  The visions in the cave always came true, there was nothing he could do to change them, that much he’d learnt.

He sat in silence beside the stream.  He knew there was something wrong with him, he wasn’t meant to be like this, but depression’s hold on him was merciless, and his view of the world had changed.  Once he’d been resilient, once he’d been able to face anything, but he couldn’t any more.  He was in his darkest hour and he feared the dawn would never come.

The sun was sinking to the horizon when he first noticed a glint of scarlet through the trees, off in the distance towards the top of a hill.  The brief flash of colour was out of place in the forest, but it wasn’t enough to dent his apathy, and he went back to staring aimlessly at the water lapping over his feet.  But when he heard the thud of horses’ hooves, he looked up, and a stab of panic darted through him. 

His feet were wet, but he yanked on his boots and scurried away from the creek, branches scratching at him as he pushed his way through the undergrowth to hide at the edge of the tree line.  His heart was racing in a furious, panicked rhythm, he didn’t know what to do, because they were there, all of them, the ones he’d once called friends, less than a hundred yards away from him, near the hut.  Why had they come?

He didn’t understand.  He shrunk back under the protection of the trees, crouching down.  Percival and Gwen were holding the horses.  Gwaine was examining what was left of the apple tree, already munching on some of the fruit.  Leon was pacing up and down on the patch of grass where Kilgharrah always landed, his eyes on the ground.  Elyan was leaning against his sword.  Arthur was standing in the doorway to the hut, smoothing a scrap of red fabric in his hand, and Merlin recognised his neckerchief. 

Arthur, why had Arthur come?  The dull ache that had been Merlin’s constant companion for so long exploded into a tangible pain, the realisation of what he’d had and lost, struck him anew.  He couldn’t breathe.  He missed them all so much, he _needed_ their friendship and acceptance, but it could never be like that again.  When would it all end?

Merlin couldn’t face them, not now, not ever.  He didn’t want his loss confirmed, he needed to pretend.  He stumbled backwards over a dead branch, he was sure he hadn’t made any noise but something alerted Arthur anyway, his head flew up and their eyes connected across the distance. 

For one frozen moment in time Merlin was whole and happy and _alive_ again, but then he remembered, and the bottom dropped out of his world, and irrational terror choked him.  He spun around and began to run blindly, away, anywhere, he tripped over roots, and branches clawed at his clothes, he was desperate to escape.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise, yet it was, when he ended up flat on his stomach on the ground, all the breath knocked out of him by the weight of the armour clad figure who’d tackled him.

He’d landed on a small rock, his hip stung, he twisted and struggled, but he was being held down, and a frantic voice repeated in his ear, over and over again, “Merlin, it’s me!  Stop, it’s only me.”

He couldn’t fight Arthur.  He stilled.  His dirty cheek pressed against the hard ground and the damp tang of the earth swirled around him.  Arthur’s hands tugged at his shoulders, and Merlin didn’t resist when Arthur pulled him up into a sitting position.  Merlin’s head hung limply, he couldn’t look at Arthur, he was ashamed to be seen like this, broken and weak when he was meant to be strong.

Arthur released his grip on Merlin’s arms, and sat back on his haunches, one of his hands coming to rest lightly against Merlin’s bent knee.  Merlin finally chanced a darting look at him, Arthur had an expression on his face Merlin had never seen before.  Merlin couldn’t comprehend it at first, but then he realised, Arthur was _afraid_ , but how could it be?  Did he know about the magic?  Was this dread because of him?

Arthur’s hand rubbed Merlin’s knee.  “It’s okay, Merlin.  Whatever it is, we’ll fix it, I promise.” 

The discrepancy between the fear in Arthur’s eyes, and his soothing tone, left Merlin confused.  And the idea that Arthur was afraid of him was shattering.  Merlin propped himself up and tried to say something because this was Arthur, and Arthur shouldn’t be afraid of him, but the sound of others running up behind them left the words lodged somewhere in his throat.  Their voices were a jumble of incomprehensible noise, Merlin hunched over further and kept his eyes fixed on the ground, Arthur issued a low-voiced command, and they left.  It was quiet again and Merlin thought that maybe he could breathe. 

“I’ve come to take you back to Camelot, Merlin.  It’s going to be alright.”  There was that strange note again in Arthur’s voice, it puzzled Merlin, it made him look up again.  The king’s face was working with some emotion Merlin couldn’t define, and now Merlin didn’t know if it _was_ fear or something else, and it frightened him, because now he’d lost this too, he couldn’t read Arthur any more, he didn’t know.

Arthur was waiting, and Merlin tried to think, tried to think of an answer that would be acceptable.  He didn’t know what to say, how to explain himself.  He didn’t want to.  He’d barely spoken in weeks, and all the facile words that once slipped with careless abandon from his mouth were long gone.  His voice was rusty from disuse, and he had to clear his throat twice before he could force the question out.  “Why?  Why are you here?”  And then it occurred to him.  “Is it Gaius, did something happen?”

Arthur’s hand tightened on his knee.  “Gaius?  No.  Gaius is fine, Merlin.”

“Then why?”  Merlin’s face was shuttered, and he looked at Arthur’s dirty hand on his knee, at his thumb brushing back and forth, and for a moment Merlin allowed himself to pretend Arthur still cared.

“Merlin ... we came to find you.”  Arthur hesitated, then ploughed on.  “We were all ... concerned.  Why did you run off like that?”

Merlin stared at him blankly and felt himself begin to shake again.  He didn’t want this.  He didn’t want Arthur here.  But he owed him the truth, he owed him that much.  Merlin whispered, “I had to.  I can’t do it any more.”

Arthur’s voice was strained, oddly choked.  “Merlin, whatever it is, I’ll fix it.  Was it something I did?  Did someone hurt you?  Are you in trouble?  Just tell me what it is, I’ll fix it.”

Why was Arthur being so kind, didn’t he know about the magic?  Merlin didn’t understand.  He said dully, trying to prepare himself, trying to prepare Arthur.  “I’m sorry.  But I can’t do this any more.  I’m not like you.”

Arthur crouched down, his head only inches away from Merlin’s, and his hand clasped Merlin’s shoulder.  “It’s alright.  It doesn’t matter.  Just come back to Camelot with me, we’ll work it out, I promise.”

But he couldn’t.  He tried to edge away.  He was so tired of everything.  Tired of the lies, tired of pretending the hurt wasn’t there, tired of trying to be someone he was not, tired of having to be strong all the time, tired of waiting and hoping for acceptance when it would never, ever happen.  He said so, almost inaudibly, “I’m tired, Arthur,” and the king’s hand brushed through his hair, and his fingers pressed against the back of Merlin’s head.

Merlin almost leant into the touch, tears filled his eyes but they didn’t spill, if he let them go now they might never stop.  He wanted Arthur to understand.  “I couldn’t tell you, Arthur, not ever.  And it’s too late now, I can’t pretend any more to be what I’m not, I have to go, so I can be who I am.”

Arthur’s hands on him tightened, he shook his head.  “Merlin, you’re talking nonsense.”

Merlin tried to smile through the tears in his eyes.  He had to tell him, then Arthur would leave him alone.  “Oh, but for once I’ve told you the truth, Arthur.  I’m not like you.  No more lies.  _I’m not like you._  But I couldn’t tell you.  Never.  I know what you think of me, but I don’t blame you.”  He stumbled, it was too difficult, and he called on his magic, willing it to give him the strength to get through this, to say what must be said.  “Know that I would _never_ hurt you.  I’ll still be around, you won’t see me, but I’ll always be there when you need me.” 

Arthur shook his head again and tried to speak, but Merlin didn’t give him time, he shook off Arthur’s grip and stood up, his legs shaking a little.  It was all he could do to ignore Arthur’s outstretched hand, but it was too late for that, it’d been too late years ago but Merlin hadn’t known.  Merlin took a deep breath, and closed his eyes, and prepared to deliver the death knell to their friendship, the proof, his truth.

“Arthur.”  He waited for a beat, for one final moment, and allowed the pulse of his magic to hum through him, a comfort even as it would condemn.  When he opened his eyes they shone brilliant and true, but he had no illusions, it was the beginning of his end.  He said quietly, through golden eyes, “Now you see me, Arthur.  Now you know.” 

He didn’t wait for a response, didn’t wait to see Arthur’s hand drop away, he didn’t have the courage to face the end head on.  Instead Merlin moved time, and in the blink of an eye he was nearly a hundred yards away.  Another blink and he’d passed the point where the others were grouped, waiting and anxious. 

Behind him, Arthur’s reflexes kicked in and he began to run.  Merlin glimpsed the frozen shock on Leon’s face, but by then Merlin was well past them, past the hut on the far side of the clearing, several hundred yards away at the top of the hill.  It was done now, he was free, but all he felt was despair.

He allowed time to resume once more, he could’ve held it off forever as he made his escape, but he didn’t, because there was one more part of him he needed Arthur to see, another truth.  He knew the dragon would be near, and Merlin may as well be hated for all the right reasons.  He threw his head back and roared to the sky, “ _O drakon, e male so_ _ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes.  Geéfstan.  Geéfstan!”_

Merlin stopped, his hands fell limply to his side, he waited, and breathed slowly, in and out.  Day was falling to dusk, and his silhouette gleamed with an unearthly radiance against the sinking sun at the top of the hill.  He glanced behind him, just once, for the last time. 

Arthur was still running, he’d made it as far as the hut near the others now.  He’d draw his sword soon and Merlin didn’t have the courage to watch the moment when friendship fell to hatred.  He sat down very slowly and drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs and dropping his head in his hands.  He shut his eyes and wished for silence.

He felt the impact a few minutes later when Arthur bounced off the shield he’d conjured.  He’d kept the shield well back, far enough away to ensure no one could be close when Kilgharrah landed.  It stretched out in either direction of Merlin for several yards.  He hadn’t made it visible, but he’d made it soft.  He couldn’t help the mental and emotional hurt he’d caused Arthur, but he’d never injure him physically.

The sound of Arthur’s shouts pierced his ears, and Merlin fisted his hands against the side of his head.  He almost felt like he was watching himself from far away, alternately numb to what was happening around him, and then, when he heard Arthur, agony tortured him again. 

There was another prod against his shield, he didn’t have to turn around to know Gwaine had reached him, then he heard Leon, then Gwen.  He wouldn’t listen, he closed his mind to them and muffled their voices with an incantation that stuck on his tongue.  He curled up tighter and hunched over, squeezing his eyes shut.  He’d left them before, and now he’d do it again.  This time they wouldn’t try to follow.

He pushed his magic out, the shield rippled into gold, vivid and glowing now with the light of the dying sun behind it, and he allowed it to expand behind him into the trees, and high into the sky.  He only reigned it in when he realised he’d let it stretch in all directions for hundreds of yards, and a part of him that wasn’t inwardly screaming rejoiced in the waves of pure magic coursing through him, it felt _good_ just to let it run unchecked, and to do what he’d been born for.

He was safe, because he was alone again.  But he had one more thing to do.  He kept his back to them, head bowed and hunched over, and his lips stayed still as he pushed words out to all of them, mind speech translated into verbal sound.  His voice echoed around the clearing below.

“ _I’m so sorry, for everything._ ”  His eyes stung and his voice was dead.  _“I wasn’t able to save your father this time Arthur, and I’m sorry.  Please don’t crucify all magic users because of what I failed to do.  The fault was mine alone.”_   He thought he heard his name shouted again and he tightened the silence spell.  He only had the strength to say what must be said, then there’d be nothing left, he was running on empty now.

He stood up slowly, and waited.  He wouldn’t look their way.  The shield rippled, they were all pounding on it now, did they want to kill him that badly?  He wondered if there’d ever be a time when he wasn’t a monster to them.  He tipped his head up to the fading sky, then pushed the words out again, and grief hit him again as he said his final goodbye. 

 _“I’m leaving now.  Don’t be afraid.  Kilgharrah won’t harm you.”_

He stretched a hand out to the hut below and used a simple summoning charm to pull his packs and the books to him.  The shield rippled when he adjusted his magic to allow them to pass through.  He wouldn’t be back, he’d go to the Crystal Cave but then he didn’t know where he’d go or what he’d do, he wasn’t fit company even for the druids, he’d be alone.

The tears brimmed over, he wiped them away.  He was sick of crying, and of being like this, of feeling hopeless and beaten.  He knew he’d never fall like Morgana, but he’d gained a new understanding how hard it would have been for her, and he pitied her for the lonely life she too now led.  Outcasts, both of them, but adversaries too.

Grief and despair consumed him, yet he had one purpose left to drive him, to be Arthur’s servant, even if he was unwanted, even if it was from afar because he’d serve and protect him unseen. 

And he had Kilgharrah, he _needed_ Kilgharrah, they were the same.

A gust of air ruffled the long grass, and the dragon landed, his bulk sending vibrations through the earth.  Merlin watched and waited, as Kilgharrah’s golden eyes took in the shield, and those who were behind it.  Kilgharrah was silent for a moment, and then he said guardedly, “Merlin, what have you done?”

Merlin couldn’t hear them now, had they fled in terror when the dragon arrived, or had the silencing spell finally worked?  He wouldn’t look, he had to give them up.  Merlin said quietly to the ground, “They’re fine, Kilgharrah.”

The dragon shook his head.  “That’s not what I meant.  Your grief has clouded your judgement, young warlock.  You have concealed your gifts and the secret of my existence for so long.  Why this, why now?”

Merlin raised his head slowly.  “Because it doesn’t matter now, hiding, and pretending.  It’s finished.”

Kilgharrah eyed him in thoughtful contemplation, then breathed out a warm gust of air, and Merlin felt the dragon’s magic flow through him, mingling with his own.  Merlin swayed slightly at the surge of power, unsure exactly what Kilgharrah was doing, but soothed by the feel of the dragon’s magic.  “I can’t pretend any more Kilgharrah.  I can’t bear it.  I know you understand that.”  He could be honest with the dragon, knowing Arthur and the others could not hear, the shield blocked sound both ways.

“Your pain and loneliness isn’t endless, my young friend, and you will be stronger for conquering it.  There will be light again after the darkness.”

Merlin’ mouth twisted, his sign of rejection a slight shake of the head.

Kilgharrah took in his expression, and his voice changed, firming.  “Merlin, destiny chose you and the young Pendragon for a reason.  Your fate lies together.  You cannot escape it.”

“I’m not trying to escape it, Kilgharrah.”  Merlin tried to shake off his lethargy, he didn’t want to have to match wits with the dragon, not now. 

“But you are.  This is not like you, Merlin.  You cannot go on like this.  Why have you shielded yourself from your friends?  And this shield is not for their benefit, or to keep me away from them, is it, Merlin?  It’s for you.  It shields you.”

A twinge of irritation throbbed within him, Kilgharrah hadn’t questioned his actions at all the past few weeks, why was he starting now?  He said resentfully, “I will do what I must.”

“You need to hear them, Merlin.  You are doing your friends a disservice when you make their decision for them.”

Anger surged, the dragon’s accusations were unjust.  “You don’t understand, Kilgharrah!  I am magic.  Their decision was made before I was even born.”

Kilgharrah didn’t agree.  “How blindly you condemn then based on your own fears.  Have you forgotten Lancelot?  He did not hate, and he knew all of you, he was your friend.  You are magic, Merlin, you are my kin, but you are still human, and you need _them_ , more than you need me.  Have you forgotten the prophecies?  And I hear them.  The young Pendragon is getting desperate, yet you will not allow him to be heard, you’ll not even look his way.  This conversation worries him.  Look at him, Merlin.  Listen.”

But he wouldn’t, he couldn’t, and then suddenly he realised what Kilgharrah had said, _they could hear him_.  He tensed, and he glared up at the dragon, now he knew what that gust of magic had been for.  “ _You changed the enchantment on the shield?_   _You have no right to do that._ ”  His fists clenched, but he couldn’t hold onto his anger, the emotion was draining.  “Please, Kilgharrah.  No more.  I just want to get away.”

“But you need to talk about it, Merlin.  The well-being of all of Albion is your burden, but you have the strength to carry it.  Yet you cannot go on like this.  I have allowed your silence for weeks.  I have not challenged you.  I’ve been your friend Merlin, I _am_ your friend, and that’s why I speak of such to you now.  You cannot separate yourself from your destiny.  It does not lie this way.  You will always tread the same path as the young Pendragon.  There is nothing either of you can do to change it.”

Merlin couldn’t think of the words to argue, and the thought that Arthur and the others would all be listening to this argument was too horrifying to contemplate.  He said flatly, his tone a warning, “No more.  You will take me to the Valley of the Fallen Kings.”

Kilgharrah’s sigh was that of a parent dealing with a recalcitrant child.  “Why there, Merlin?”

“You know the answer to that as well as I do.”

“Merlin ... you should not do this.  The knowledge in the cave has never bought you peace.”

“That’s not why I’m going.”

“Then why, young warlock?”

He wouldn’t listen to the sounds behind him, he’d pretend they all weren’t there.  He said quietly, “Not for peace, I don’t expect it.  I ... I just have to _know_ , Kilgharrah.  Will it all be worth it, in the end?”

The dragon was silent for a long moment.  “I understand.”  Kilgharrah eyed him thoughtfully and tried a different tactic.  “Tell me who they are, Merlin.  I know the Once and Future King, for his connection to you shines clear and strong.  But who are the others?”

Merlin didn’t want to think about it, to think about them, behind the shield.  His tone was sharp.  “No.  I’m not discussing this any more.  We’re leaving, now.”

“You’re veering off your path, Merlin.  This is not the right course to follow.”

“No, Kilgharrah!  _No more!_ ”  Anger exploded unexpectedly, Merlin’s magic crackled, and the sky rumbled in response.  He swayed on his feet.  “No more.  Please. _I can’t._ ”

Kilgharrah was merciless.  “You may be magic, Merlin, but you are still only human.  Without your friends you will find no joy in life.  Did these few weeks teach you nothing?”

Merlin straightened his shoulders again, and eyed the dragon with an anger that still simmered below the surface.  “Yes.  They taught me that I cannot make mistakes because when I do they have devastating consequences.  As you well know.  And my burdens are always mine to face _alone,_ Kilgharrah.  Alone!  That’s how it always is.  And so it must be.” 

“You cannot push your destiny aside, Merlin.  The advice I give you is always right.  You know that.”

Merlin had no defence for that.  “Be that as it may.  But I’m magic.  I cannot hide what I am any longer.  And I cannot exist in Camelot any longer.  It has to be this way.  You will not argue any longer, you will take me to the Crystal Cave. _I command you_.”

Kilgharrah dipped his head in a graceful bow.  “Very well.” 

Merlin ignored the silence behind him, he wasn’t going to even look their way as he left.  He wouldn’t, he couldn’t.  Kilgharrah might have allowed Arthur and the others to hear this conversation, but Merlin was glad he couldn’t hear _them_ in return.  He picked up his pack and slung it across one shoulder, then bent down to pick up the books.

“If you are going to intervene, young Pendragon, now would be the time.”  Kilgharrah’s voice was mild, and Merlin’s head snapped up in horror.  Then he felt a tentative hand on his shoulder, he jumped, and the books tumbled to the ground.  He stilled in shock, hope and fear warring for dominance.

“Merlin?”  Arthur sounded unlike himself, uncertain and unsure.

Merlin wouldn’t turn around, he couldn’t.  His voice was nothing more than a whisper.  “Don’t.”  The easy tears betrayed him again and he dashed them away angrily with the back of his hand.  He tried to shrug Arthur off but the king wouldn’t be dissuaded.

Arthur’s voice was low, almost pleading.  “Merlin ... stop.”

Adrenalin surged, Merlin’s heart thumped, he didn’t know whether to stay or flee.  Why was Arthur being ... _kind_?  Where was his anger?  Why did he sound like he cared?  It couldn’t be true, this was where it had to end.  Merlin shook.  “I can’t do this, Arthur.” 

But Arthur’s other hand curled around his wrist and tugged him closer, forcing him to turn around.  Merlin went blindly, and found his face squashed into the crook of Arthur’s shoulder, the king’s armour was cool against Merlin’s chin.  The shield glimmered golden in front of him, and he felt a pang of gratitude that Kilgharrah hadn’t allowed the others through, Merlin could barely cope with this.  He was shaking, he didn’t know what to do with his hands, he _wouldn’t_ hug Arthur back, he couldn’t allow himself to believe.

Arthur’s words were a low hum in Merlin’s ear.  “I’m sorry, Merlin, this is all my fault.  I should have known, I shouldn’t have let it come to this.”  Arthur swallowed and added awkwardly, “And I won’t lose you again.”

Merlin trembled, he _couldn’t_ dare to hope, and the words spilled out helplessly, “I can’t, Arthur.  I can’t.”  His voice broke.  “I don’t know what I’m doing any more.  I don’t know how to make it all right again.”

Arthur pulled him closer.  “Then I’ll make it right.  It’s okay, Merlin.  I told you, it’s okay.  I promise.”

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, he wanted to believe, and Arthur sighed in his ear.  “I’m only going to say this once, so you’d better listen.  I trust you, I wish you’d trust me.  I believe in you.”

Merlin cleared his throat, his hands still hung limply by his side, he couldn’t take this final step, to trust.  “But it changes everything.  I’ve changed everything.”

Arthur shook his head and pulled back so he could meet Merlin’s eyes.  “You mean your magic, Merlin.  You can say it.  Yes.  It changes everything, but it changes nothing.”

Merlin wanted to be sure.  “Nothing?  How can you say that?  I know what you think of magic. And that’s what I am.”

“I’m so sorry, Merlin.  I wish I’d known.  I wish I’d given you the opportunity to trust me.  Because first and foremost, _you’re my friend_ , Merlin.  My friend.  I know you.”

Merlin waited, would there be a qualifier?  But Arthur was silent, and it was a slowly dawning realisation, Merlin knew he could believe.  He blinked furiously.  “That’s it?”

Arthur’s response was simple.  “Yeah.”

“But ... don’t you want to know more?  About ... uh ... the magic?”

“Yes.  But not now.  You’re going to come back to Camelot, Gaius is going to check you over, Gwen’s going to fuss over you, and when you’ve eaten and slept and you’re feeling okay, then we’ll talk, when you’re ready.” __

Merlin was torn between crying and smiling, he felt the tiny sparks of his old personality flaring up again.  His voice was almost steady.  “So ... you realise you’re hugging me?”

Arthur grumbled but he didn’t let him go.  “I’m only hugging you because you’re such a _girl_ , Merlin.”

Merlin gave him a watery smile.  They hadn’t solved the world’s problems, not everything between had been completely settled, he still felt like he could shatter if Arthur let him go, but for now it was enough.  He relaxed, and his arms finally slipped around Arthur, returning his hug.  It wasn’t the end, it was the beginning of things to come.

 

**********

The End.

**********

 


End file.
